We reach a dark wood door. He takes out a card and slides it along a part of the door frame. I hear a click. He puts his finger to the side of the frame. Slowly and silently, the door swings open. It’s thick, like a door for a steel bank vault.
Inside is a large room. Every surface is covered in black. Velvet or leather. A thick black carpet covers the floor. There’s very little furniture, and all of it is black. Lacquer, leather or wood. What there is, is mostly odd and unfamiliar. The walls are lined with black velvet.
It’s so kinky, I can smell the sweat and dark, oily scents. Bodies, stretching, working to the edge of their limits. Testosterone. Sex. And the other scent, the one no-one can define.
Fear. I feel it now.
Large oval mirrors on two of the walls have heavy silver frames. Silver or steel chains hang across the walls. In the center of the room is a swing, hanging on a heavy, polished steel chain.
Almost absently, I ask him, “What is this place?”
It seems pointless to ask him, Why have you brought me here? Because it’s so obvious. He’s going to whip me and torture me. My insides gurgle, and I can’t tell what’s fear and what’s anticipation.
Looking around, oh-so-innocently, he tells me, “This is a house I have in Moscow. I bought it to live in; it’s very big and very beautiful, but I haven’t had time to remodel it.”
“Is all of it like this?”
“Underground and bomb-proof? No. Maybe I should find one that is. Still, the house is well fortified and very few people know that I bought it, so serves as a good safe house for now.”
“I meant this room.”
“Oh. Of course. Yes. No, this pretty unusual. I’m not really certain what it was built for. The walls and the door are powerfully reinforced, though. It functions as what the rich call a ‘panic room,’ but an amazingly strong one. It is actually more reinforced than most of the strongest bank vaults.”
“Black velvet walls? Black leather and velvet upholstery? A steel chain swing with a leather saddle? I’d say that this is some kind of a playroom. It’s a sex dungeon.”
“Yes. That, too. Obviously.” He didn’t know.
My master criminal, my prince of darkness doesn’t know about BDSM. Well, I don’t ‘know’ about it. Only what I’ve read, and all of that is in fiction. So, probably nothing like the real thing. I know that whoever it was that had this room built, used it for the real thing.
The fittings here are functional. They’re not made for decorative effect. The leather and velvet padding is worn shiny in distinct places, and there are marks on the edges of the wood. The chains are all shiny, but they’re heavy. They’re not for show.
But he didn’t know what the room was for. A stirring down in my core wants me to show him. But I don’t really know, either. It would be the blind leading the blind. The appeal of the idea is growing, not fading.
“But I’ve brought you here for safety.”
“Whose safety?” Okay, I tell myself, be serious now.
He goes on, “There’s food and quite a nice kitchen, a bathroom through here.” The bathroom is a tiled wet-room. Tiled, in black, naturally, but the huge mirrors and the lighting make it surprisingly bright. “And on the other side is a pretty luxurious bedroom suite.”
“You’re planning to keep me in here.”
He turns back to face me.
“Of course. It’s safe.”
“Are you going to lock me in?”
“I shouldn’t have to be out too much. But when I do, you wouldn’t be safe if the doors weren’t sealed.”
Sealed. The word drops inside me with a thud. But he says it like it’s the most normal thing you could imagine. I’m fighting against a rising buzz of panic mixed with emotions I don’t want to face or acknowledge.
“Why have you done this? Why have you brought me here? How dare you imprison me?”
His quizzical eyes soften. “For your protection. What you were doing, poking around in the shipping manifests and dockets—if I knew about it, others will have been alerted, too. You came very close to being dropped into the deepwater terminal.”
“So there is something crooked going on.”
“At the docks? Of course.” He looks at me like he’s explaining to a child. “There isn’t a dock in the world where ‘crooked things’ aren’t ‘going on.’ But if you go blundering in and waving your arms about it, you’re going to wake up very dead.”
“And that’s why you brought me to this dungeon?” Sound does not echo in here. There is a hush over his voice and mine. Movements make only the softest rustle. The air is perfumed with a dark, musty scent, like old leather and wood polish, like the aroma I’d imagine in a gentlemen’s club, but with an extra spice that I can’t identify. A tang of something exotic.
He says, “It’s a nice dungeon, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, of course it isn’t. I took you for your safety. Now I’m going to keep you for my pleasure.” I gasp.
“You’re going to keep me? Like a pet, or a toy?”
“Probably a bit of both. Part pet, part toy. Part feast.”
“You can’t—” From the spark in his eyes, I can’t tell whether he’s serious or not. Is he just playing with me?
“Don’t pretend that you don’t want it. You’re better than that.” He stands so still, so firm and straight. So erect.
And in the front of his pants I can see that all of him is standing very straight. He is extremely firm and erect.
“You deserve respect, Irina. Adoration. You should have your body worshipped. And your mind.” His thumb traces the deep cleft in his chin. “But you have to own it first.” His nose lifts. Like a challenge. “You need to take charge of who you are. Not take stupid risks like blundering into a port authority, waving little scraps of gossip. Charging around and asking where the bad people are.”
“That isn’t fair.”
He almost smiles. The stretch at the corners of his eyes makes me squirm in my pants.
“Of course it isn’t.” His voice is hard, “Life is not fair, Irina. You know that.” I move to the right and he moves the same way at the same time. I stop as soon as I see it. He does the same. Like a dance. Like we’re circling each other.
Like a formal dance you’d see in a historical movie. In the Court at Versailles or somewhere.
Like trained and rehearsed dance partners we move, then we stop, looking in each other’s eyes. Move, freeze, look, move. Move, freeze, look, move. His eyes tell me, he didn’t expect this any more than I did. Only our bodies know the rules. the steps.
Then we do it again. Without music. Move, freeze, look, move. Like a trance. Hypnotic.
It’s the hottest thing I ever did.
Chapter Fifteen
Him
I DON’T KNOW HOW much longer I can stand still and look at her. Pulses hammer through my veins and my muscles zing and buzz. She begins to move. My body follows so instinctively, I can’t tell whether she started it or I did. Immediately it becomes a dance. We move, circling, then we’re still. Then we’re moving again. Her eyes blaze as we both follow each other. With no words.
We move, then stop. Looking at each other. And again. And the music is she and I. Nothing more. I never felt anything so magical before. It’s funny. But laughing would break it.
It’s hard not to let out a laugh or a smile. I see her thinking the same. We’re complicit. Sharing the unspoken thought. We move. And stop. Move and stop.
I tell her, freely, “I haven’t thought about anything but you since I found you. You’ve invaded my mind and colonized it. I have to have you.” We move again.
“Do I get a say in that?” Her voice, the sound of her throat makes me ache as we stop.
Closer now. “Of course. If you take it. If you own it.”
“You mean if I say what you want to hear?” Circling again.
She’s growing, stretching into the idea, feeling herself expand, I know that
she is, I can feel it from her. I see her chin raise and her lips part. I tell her, “Say what you want.”
Her eyes blaze and her voice catches as she freezes, looking in my eye. “Come here.” She’s not ready to know what she wants and to say it straight out.
As we move again, I demand, “You. Come here.”
She waits. Then she runs to me. I breathe in the soft scent of her hair, like fresh strawberries in hay. I feel the warmth of her body through my clothes. She is near enough to touch. I know that I must make her wait.
I tell her again. “Tell me what you want.”
Now we move sideways, still circling, only inches apart. “I want to slap your self-satisfied face,” she whispers.
“You don’t dare.”
Her eyes blaze. She’s awakening. Her hand whips across my jaw.
If it were anyone else, I would laugh. Laugh and seize her by the wrist. Turn her forearm and pull her. Show her some of my strength. But this is Irina. My Irina. She is growing, before my eyes. “Your fingers probably sting more than my cheek.”
With the other hand she does it again. This time she almost makes my face move. I can’t resist smiling a little. I lift an eyebrow. “Better.”
Her mouth pinches and her eyes flash. “You…” She bangs the sides of her fists on my chest. Now she is getting somewhere. Her fists beat my chest like a drum. Hard. And fast. My pulse rises.
“Much better.”
She shoves me. Not hard enough to make me move. So she pushes my chest again. Then she hammers her fists against the solid wall of my pecs as she shouts through gritted teeth. “You…”
I smile down at the blaze in her lovely eyes. Her hands seize my hair, clawing. She pulls at my head, but it doesn’t move. Stretching up on tiptoe, she presses her mouth to mine. Her feet stamp, and she shakes at my head as I grin.
She pulls back. Punches my abs with her fists. Rapid blows make me stiffen my stomach. Her knuckles are sharp. My eyes flash as I smile.
I can’t hold back for too much longer. The passions that are heating up and bursting out in her curvy little frame are seeping into me. I was aroused when I brought her in here. Now my body is excited, lifting toward an unstoppable pitch. I am approaching a boiling point. I won’t be able to hold back too much longer.
Putting the initiative on her is sending her wild, though. I can feel her ripping, clawing her way through long-repressed feelings. Her needs, her animal nature is fighting to get free. I almost can’t believe I am so privileged to be here, to be the catalyst for her to tear her way out of a lifetime of pent-up feelings, of emotion denied.
“Here it all is,” my voice is low. Coarse, “All the fucking energy, held back and pent-up for all that time.”
She shouts in frustration.
I tell her, “You are magnificent. A whole lifetime of holding back, all thrashes its way out of you in a torrent. And you have me to punch it out on. I am thrilled and honored.” I am doing everything that I can to restrain my urge to seize her and take her, right now.
I know that she’s the woman I need. I know that I have to have her and that I must make her be mine forever. But I need the timing to be right for her as well as for me. That determination is all that’s giving me the strength to hold back, the will to wait. The certainty that the moment will be right for her, and it will be soon.
It’s taking me all the strength I have not to fuck her brains out right here and now.
Seeing my smile, her eyes widen. She leaps at me again. Jumping, she flings her arms and legs around me, growling as her lips fasten on mine. She catches me as I’m taking a breath. My mouth is open. Our lips join in a kiss. Like a statue springing to life, my own body takes over.
Her thighs grip around my body. She clings tight, with her fingers in my hair. Our lips collide and our breaths meet, hot, fevered. Urgent. Her weight is nothing. All I know, all that I care about is her heat. Her breathing. Her movement.
Her body moves and sways as I hold her. We kiss, deep. Hard. Our tongues meet. Breathing together, her body and mine mold and fit together, pressing, learning, awakening, and exploring.
I stand, planted solid on the floor, she wraps and writhes over me and around me. We move like dancers, slow rhythms mirroring, responding to each other. In. Out. Round. Up and down.
Cradling her with my hands, my trunk sways and bends to her. Her pelvis pushes her hot mound against my stomach, scraping up and down the ridges of my abs. The hard length of my cock strains and aches as it snakes toward her. My fingers run over her face, touch her, feel her soft throat and slide down to slip into the front of her shirt.
Her shoulder lifts as she offers her breast into my hand. Still locked in a hungry kiss, we flow together.
When our mouths break apart, we look into each other’s faces. She tugs her fingers through my hair. I stroke her face. Her neck.
Her eyebrows twitch. “Please.”
Now I know. I don’t even know how I know. My body knows. “It’s your first time.”
She takes a breath. “I waited.”
“For me. Perfect.”
She nods, uncertainly. “For it to be perfect.” Then, “Please. Fuck me, Mischa. Give me everything you’ve got.” She blinks, “Only, please. One thing.”
“Yes. Anything.”
“It has to mean something.”
“It means everything.”
“Don’t, Mischa,” Her brow wrinkles like she could drop a tear. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I pull her closer. “It’s my first time, too.”
Her eyes widen and she halts, “It can’t be.”
“I waited for you.”
“Don’t… Mischa, please.”
“It’s true. I didn’t know it. I didn’t know it was you. Truthfully, I didn’t really even know that I was waiting. Obviously. But I do know it now. It was you. I was waiting for you all along.”
Her brow tenses. I hold her more tenderly. The feelings that rise inside me are not tender. They’re fierce and raw.
I take her mouth again. Her body melts into mine. The firm warmth of her breasts, the heat of her petals, swollen, wet, pressed hard against me. Her ass clenches rhythmically, feeling small in my hand.
She shudders and bucks as my other hand slides along the underside of her thigh. Her heat guides my fingers. Her thighs grip, trembling around me.
Gasping loud and releasing a groan when I slip inside the sodden mess of her panties, she pushes her flower into my hand. I trace her lips and press them, finding my way to her buzzing clit. I pull her mound above her hood, make slow, deliberate motions, dragging tension on her bean. She twitches, judders and trembles, showing me her pulses. Teaching me her tides and her beats.
I am musical from my bones. I feel her currents of energy, the melody of her need.
I feed her with caresses, pull when she needs to be goaded and chased, hold back when she needs to race ahead. Follow when she needs to be seen. Known. I want to drink from her cup, but I cannot wait.
I should be tender. But I cannot wait. I should take her with the verses of a long poem, lighting the way to each step. But I cannot wait.
Bad Russian 05 Page 6
